


Life's Just a Game

by Tranquil_Tevine



Category: Call of Duty: Black Ops II - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cool smoke rings, Harry's a badass, Humor, Implied drinking, Smoking, Swearing, Underage - Freeform, Wacky vending machines, Weapons, magical boxes and machines of wonder!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10123346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tranquil_Tevine/pseuds/Tranquil_Tevine
Summary: Harry's lived in this abandoned town for as long as he can remember. Day by day, he fights through waves of Zombies. By night he sleeps, used to the noise. A look into the life of Harry Potter, Zombie Slayer extraordinaire.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a crossover, a really strange one at that. I play a lot of this game with my friend and I thought how badass it would be for a wizard to be battling it out and living in that environment xD Please don't take this serious in any way, it's fucking nuts but I hope you like it anyway! Oh and I'm British so before anything, I don't mean Fag in a disrespectful way, it's our word for Cigarette.

Inhuman screams, the smell of rotting and decaying flesh and in some cases, burning. Simple and pure chaos.

  
Harry _loved_   it.

 

He wasn't sure in truth how long he'd been here, but he was very self-aware at the tender age of 10 years old. He had to be, the place where he lived. It was a town, abandoned with cracks in the roads which gave way to burning lava. He had to be careful, the burn scars littering his body was an indication of that.

 

He lived in the bar here and he wasn't sure what was keeping up the old place. He slowly but surely over time made it his home, his use of magic and common tools helping to repair the holes and fixing the boarded up holes with something at least better than planks of wood.

 

The Zombies were never ending, though it seemed as though once they thinned out, they stayed that way until they were gone, but twice as many came back the next day. He knew he was magical, but then again, so was the box.

 

It was wooden, long and painted with a question mark. He'd worked out that enough Zombie kills on his part would reward him. Sometimes, he got a shit haul and sometimes, he was lucky.

 

He did wonder how he'd not died, there were times where it became too much but instead, he'd woken up as if he were in a deep sleep and not being rendered limb from limb by the undead.

 

He had basic furnishings, enough to get by. There were one or two vending machines about the place, with alcohol and energy drinks, some food too, which gave him strength and enabled him to do interesting things.

 

The perks of living in a bar really.

 

He'd found that once he'd awakened, anything obtained from the box would be gone. So for Harry, it was for the sheer sake of the satisfaction of blowing a zombie's brain out and the thrill of the kill which kept him going.

 

He wasn't fighting for his life per se, to him it was very much like a game. He could remember far back into his childhood. He thought he may have had perfect memory recall, but then why couldn't he remember when he first came here?

 

He loved his weapons, especially when Pack-a-Punched. The sounds of the lasers cutting through a wave of enemies as he aimed true with the scope fulfilled him in ways which he couldn't say.

 

He'd play around with his magic, careful since the last time he tried to enchant a gun, it exploded, a sharp shard of the once gun slashing into his lip, leaving the scar which ran straight down from the left side of his nose, through his lip and reaching his chin.

 

He had plenty of battle wounds, but he was pleased to say he'd hurt them more than they ever did him.

 

He had favourite guns, of course. It was handy when he'd loot the dead corpses because he'd find a great many things. Spare ammo, odds and ends of a certain kind and a surprising amount of money.

 

His 2 favourite weapons, had to be his pack a punched Gailil and the Ray Gun.

 

The Gailil was a gun which just seemed to agree with him. The recoil wasn't too bad and he always got extra out of it if he picked one of the vending machines either in the bank or at the back where the metal fence was. It was lighter than the HAMR, sleek and a good sight for when he wanted to bust some brains.

 

The HAMR was a beautiful gun, however, it took the piss a bit when reloading. The Ray Gun was average and not really a gun of the finer points, more used if you want to take out Zombies which were overwhelming. He personally preferred the bloodshed and always enjoyed grenade throwing, blow up the fuckers all at once.

 

Except for the war machine, though, that could fuck off. Great Pack-a-Punched but other than that, Harry would leave it well alone.

 

He had an advantage, though. He was a wizard and if any members of the endless waves were, they never showed it. He later learned to enchant the bullets instead because they didn't have a negative effect.

 

His favourite thing to do, would be to camp out at his spot above the bar (there was already a hole there, he just tidied it up a bit, leaving something which he could fix back into place so he could get some sleep undisturbed) and load one bullet with an explosive round. He'd use a monkey, throwing the little bastard on the ground so they could all gather around it. One shot was all it took because Harry made sure there was enough in there for a decent sized bomb, nothing which would damage the building, though.

 

The resulting massacre of bodies never failed to put a smile on his face. Or as much as he could smile, it was a bit more difficult for the side of his face with the scar, maybe he hit a nerve or something.

 

Right now, though, the current wave he was on in his estimation, since the beginning, had been for a year. The last zombie down would be an extra 2 years of carnage. He did wonder where they all came from, why they never seemed to end, but he didn't complain.

 

He crouched across from the metal fence, hard rock at his back. Smirking, he lit the end of a fag with his finger. The interesting things you could find on animated corpses. He took his time, inhaling the smoke for a few seconds before gently blowing, creating smoke circles in the ashen air.

 

He wasn't sure what he'd do if he went anywhere else, he was used to noise, even when sleeping. The crackling of the lava could be heard clearly and whatever Zombies were screaming away at that time.

 

“You're not the best at stealth, are you?” he muttered, rolling his eyes as the dragging of feet on concrete alerted him to his target.

 

It dropped before him, greying corpse looking ready to collapse on its own, before slowly turning around. It had barely focused on Harry before he had a knife between its eyes.

 

"Not today, cunt!" he grinned menacingly, plunging the blade hard into its forehead, blood spatters hitting Harry's tux.

 

He only had this clothing and strangely, it seemed to grow with him. He was unsure of why or why even a tux but often he had to remove the suit jacket because it was sweltering with all the lava deposits.

 

Wiping bitter blood from his lips, Harry re-sheathed his knife, ensuring his favourite weapons were still intact. He'd racked up some impressive Zombie kills, stopping off to buy some Semtex Grenades. They saved his arse more than once. One time, He was royally fucked. He must have been about 6, 7? He had no ammo, no grenades and it was the end of a long wave. Semtex grenades were all he had, as he backed into the corner where the double tap vending machine was, knowing there he couldn't be hit from behind.

 

He kept running back and taking some more, all the while dodging them. Sometimes they blew up completely, other times they lost limbs. But in the end, slowly and gradually, they'd prevented him from being knocked out for god knows how long.

 

There wasn't a way to keep track of time, other than by how long the waves lasted. He'd started a tally chart on the bar walls a while ago and that sometimes helped. For now, though, he'd stock up on his grenades and retire to the bar, more than certain his friends would be back with a vengeance soon.

**Author's Note:**

> I never know how graphic it is up to a point where you need it as an archive warning. How graphic is graphic anyway? The bit about the grenades at the end is true, they really did save my arse one time in a game, I was on round 23 and managed to finish them off using only them :)


End file.
